Stinking pelt

Line 9
On the way home
The local tabloid
Spread on the floor
I pick it up
I read
This woman
87 y.o.
Was hit by a car
Jaywalking
Dead
This other woman
72 y.o.
Not crossing the street
Fast enough
Flattened
By a truck
This couple
79 and 76 y.o.
Crashed on the road
Were killed when
Another car
Hit them
Getting old
Is like a sinking ship
Water is cold
And you’re
Never sure
Where hell
Is coming from

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Alone on Mars

On Line 9
When hurling down with
The last train
The iron tracks screaming
And ghosts standing alert
You’re not exactly dead yet
But not
Exactly alive
Anymore
That moment in between
When you don’t
Have to think
Whether you’re
Dead or alive
Is comfortable
Enough
Somehow
You wish
It’d never end

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